


I will wade through the fire and smoke (like sunlight through the haze)

by BellamyBlakesHairGel



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injured!Bellamy, Pining, Post-Season/Series 02, Season/Series 02, drugged up bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellamyBlakesHairGel/pseuds/BellamyBlakesHairGel
Summary: Clarke's eyes widened in horror as they were suddenly drawn to the growing patch of crimson on his Henley. She felt sick. Following her gaze, he looked down and seemed startled to see the amount of red staining his shirt."Bell…" she whispered.He brushed his hand to the fabric and brought it upwards so he could see it better. His fingers were covered in thick, dark red blood.Or:  Bellamy gets hurt and Clarke has to face a whole load of feelings.





	I will wade through the fire and smoke (like sunlight through the haze)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I've sort of been on the periphery of the 100 fandom for a while and I have read loads of fics so I decided to give it a go myself. I wrote this in one day and it hasn't been betaed so I apologise in advance for my inevitable mistakes. If you spot any please let me know in the comments.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! :)
> 
> Title from 'start a riot' by BANNERS

It was all a blur, really. One moment they were talking amicably just outside camp whilst waiting for the others to catch up and the next moment the trees were moving – except they weren't trees; they were people clad in greens and browns and hastily applied war-paint.

Several gun safeties were clicked off in unison, blades were being unsheathed and punches were flying instantly. Clarke could see Bellamy through the fray holding off a grounder and kicking his feet from beneath him in one swift movement with practiced ease, their light-hearted conversation moments ago forgotten. She soon lost sight of him as the fighting got more vicious.

In front of her, Miller was backed against a tree, his gun lay on the ground several feet away and a leering grounder was holding his throat as he drew an ax backward to stab him. With a feral cry, she launched herself at the grounder, wrestling the ax out of his grip and causing the blade to only just miss cutting her as it fell to the ground with a clatter. She unslung her rifle from its position over her shoulder and brought the heavy barrel to the grounder's temple with enough force to send him sprawling on the forest floor, unconscious. 

After a beat, she stood up shakily and surveyed the surroundings. Miller gave her an appraising nod in thanks and then tried to stretch out his neck, rolling his shoulders. At this point it seemed like the fight was drawing to close, the grounders had been under-armored and outgunned, what with their strange aversion to guns. A few of the guards were tying up the unconscious grounders although there weren't many; most were lying dead as it's difficult to target a non-lethal place to shoot when faced with a rapidly advancing wall of muscle that's wielding a cruel looking sword. 

Luckily, of the ten people in their patrol only three seemed to be mildly hurt – a few superficial cuts she could immediately identify as she quickly scanned the group although Bellamy was helping Harper balance as she bandaged a particularly nasty looking cut on her thigh. She made a mental note to deal with that once they got to camp, they couldn't risk it getting infected what with the limited medical supplies they have on the ground. She walked over to them, ready for one of Bellamy's easy smiles and a quick "alright there, princess?". Instead what she got was more of a grimace.

"Hey," she started. He tried to smile, his eyes slightly unfocused. "Are you okay?" she asked, gripped with concern as she took in his appearance. 

His normally warm skin was paler than she had ever seen it and had a sweaty sheen that was causing tendrils of his too-long hair to stick to his forehead. Now that Harper had bandaged her leg he seemed to be subconsciously leaning on her more and more by the second. Clarke's eyes widened in horror as they were suddenly drawn to the growing patch of crimson on his Henley. She felt sick. Following her gaze, he looked down and seemed startled to see the amount of red staining his shirt.

"Bell…" she whispered.

He brushed his hand to the fabric and then brought it upwards so he could see it better. His fingers were covered in thick, dark red blood. 

"Oh," he said, in a manner that suggested that he was annoyed about something insignificant like what they were serving in the mess that night, not that he had just found out that he was heavily bleeding from a combat wound.

With that the fight seemed to go out of him, his knees buckled and he began to collapse downwards as if he couldn't carry his own weight anymore. Clarke rushed forwards, grabbing his shoulders and helping Harper lower him to the ground. 

Frantically, she ripped off the rest of his shredded shirt and balled it up over his gash, pressing down. He was groaning now, half-conscious. She couldn't allow herself to think about the pain he must be in otherwise she might start crying and would be of no use to anyone, least of all Bellamy. She looked at the sallow color of his chest, the life literally draining out of him. She had imagined situations where she would see him shirtless many times – none of them included him being mortally wounded, of course. She could feel the sticky warmth of his blood through the makeshift bandage.

The others were all standing, somewhat dumbfoundedly as she started doing mental checklists of all the ways this gash could kill him: blood loss, infection, poison – who knows what was on the blade that cut him. So many things could go wrong. 

"Someone, make a stretcher. Use your jackets and branches or something. Miller, go ahead and alert my mother so she's prepared when we get there," she said shortly, her attention returning to Bellamy who was now taking quick, shallow breaths as if trying to stop himself from crying.  
Miller, not used to seeing her so close to breaking, gave a tight nod and broke into a swift jog towards camp. 

She, unlike the others, didn't watch as his guard jacket and beanie came less visible and eventually disappeared, too busy studying Bellamy's face that was contorted with pain. She kneeled as close as she could to his face without moving her hands from the gash and just murmured the mantra, "you're okay. I'm going to look after you. You're okay…" quietly so only Bellamy could hear until she saw his breathing even out. Even though this was definitely not the right time, she took a moment to study the map of freckles along his cheekbones, his nose. It was rare that she could get this close without him moving. Bellamy was a somewhat restless person; always working and 'urgent' finding tasks to do. Clarke had to, on many occasions, forcibly go to his tent and sleep. Sometimes she poked her head into his tent on her way to her own, only to find him passed out on his bedroll with his mouth open, still fully dressed - boots and all. He looked more relaxed then than he ever did while awake. Now though, he looked pained even while passed out, the bridge of his nose scrunched up. 

Snapping back into the present, she all but growled "well, hurry up" at the rest of the patrol. Those who could, promptly sprung into action, rigging a stretcher that carried a barely lucid Bellamy into camp not long later. 

\----------

Her mother was waiting for her when they entered the gate, in doctor mode, commanding people about and directing the guards carrying Bellamy's stretcher to medical. Carefully, they lowered him onto a cot table that Abby had cleared so that she could examine his wound. 

Clarke was too busy staring at her hands, now caked in blood – Bellamy's blood – to hear when her mother asked her to let go of the fabric she had been pressing against his side for the last twenty minutes. Her medical internship on the ark, however fleeting, had at least given her the knowledge that pressure on a bleeding wound can be the difference between life and death. She didn't want to think about the possibility of the latter. Gently, her mother pried her hands away from Bellamy's body, quietly asking Jackson to take her outside. At those words, Clarke shook herself out of her state of terror and gripped Bellamy's hand like a vice her small palm dwarfed by his limp hand.

"Mom, I know…," she took a breath to steady her shaky voice, "I know you need me to go but I can't… I can't leave him. Not now." 

She looked at her mom defiantly, readying herself for an argument but to her surprise Abby, seeing the steel in Clarke's eyes, much like her own, responded with a calm "Fine - but if at any point I think you are causing a distraction I will not hesitate to get someone to escort you out. Understood?"

Clarke gave a sharp nod in response and pulled up a chair next to the table, not letting go of Bellamy's hand. Satisfied with Clarke's response, Abby pulled on her gloves and set about cleaning and dressing the wound in a tense silence whilst Clarke gazed at Bellamy's tightly closed eyes, tears tracking down her face at his obvious pain. 

Up on the ring, they had been able to synthesize some forms of anesthesia from certain plants grown in farm station however down on the ground they had yet to find a good alternative and had none of the stockpiles as they had been destroyed when the ark came down. There was probably lots of painkilling plants right outside of camp but without the cooperation of the grounders, it would take them months of testing to catalog the various properties of all the plants. 

Once Abby was done she gave Clarke's shoulder a light squeeze and told her they were moving Bellamy to a cot in a separate room in the med bay. Bellamy had passed out about ten minutes into Abby's suturing from a mixture of blood loss and exhaustion. 

"He was really lucky," her mom quietly said to her as Clarke sat down next to Bellamy in the new room. "It nicked an artery which was why it was bleeding so heavily but I managed to suture it and close up the wound. He'll be okay for now. If – when he wakes up we'll know there was no poison on the knife."

"And if there was?" Clarke fired back.

"Then we'll have to hope Lincoln has an antidote."

Clarke pursed her lips, willing herself not to focus on the possibilities.

Her mom must have left then but Clarke remained clasping Bellamy's hand as the light entering through the window got fainter and fainter. At some point Octavia had stormed in, angry that no one had told about her brother however that anger soon dissipated, leaving her choking back sobs as she quickly exited the room, the sight of her brother's pale form and the tightly wound bandages around his middle too much for her. 

Later, Lincoln came in bearing a leafy green plant with its roots still attached. He calmly explained that it can be boiled to make a tea that can be used as a painkiller and quickly left, needing to get back to Octavia who clearly wasn't dealing with this well since she hadn't been in since the first time.

It was several more tense hours before Bellamy woke. It was now night. Clarke had fallen asleep with her head resting on the cot next to their intertwined hands, exhaustion from the day's stress having overcome even her strongest willpower. Bellamy was gently trying to flex his fingers as her grip on his hand was limiting the circulation. 

Clarke woke with a start, sitting bolt upright as she scanned his face, relief washing over her. He was looking at her, a tight smile on his face. 

"Hey princess," he said with a scratchy voice. "Can't get rid of me that easily," he tried but Clarke could see through his bravado. Carefully, she stood up. Her hands hovered over his body, not daring to touch him in case she caused him pain but wanting to comfort him all the same.

"Where does it hurt?" she asked.

"it doesn't," he replied quickly. Too quickly.

"Bellamy," she shot him a warning look.

"So damn stubborn," he muttered to himself, "all of my left side… and my head."

"Okay… okay, this is good."

Quirking his eyebrow, "my being in pain is good?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well obviously not, idiot, but it means you've probably not been poisoned, otherwise you would be in a lot more pain all over."

She reached for the metal cup on the table by the bed and lifted it to his mouth, tipping it slightly. "Drink," she said. He opened his mouth as if to argue but her tone brokered no room for argument so he acquiesced, allowing the luke-warm water to slide down his throat. 

"I'm going to get you something for the pain, okay?" she said, placing the cup back on the table. 

He gave a short nod, the muscle in his jaw ticking from trying to hide the amount of discomfort he was in. Impulsively, she reached up and gently smoothed her hand over his jaw, moving it up to brush his hair out of his eyes before she leaned forwards a pressed a barely-there kiss to his clammy forehead. He froze, seemingly stopping breathing. Sensing this, she blushed and grabbed the plant Lincoln had given her. She then made a swift exit with a hastily muttered goodbye, leaving a dazed Bellamy behind.

Marching out of med bay towards the kitchens the crowds of people seemed to part unusually quickly. Normally it would take some elbowing and a few pointed coughs for the short blonde to navigate the camp, especially in the dark, however, today none of that was necessary. She wondered whether it was because of her currently flushed disposition caused by her kiss.

She and Bellamy had been toeing the blurry line between friendship and something more for a long time now; a game where one of them would accidentally cross the line with a too-long hug so would then back off for a while, rather than rock the boat and ruin their carefully balanced friendship. Well, they were more than friends, that was no secret. Co-leaders. Teammates. Together.

She trusted Bellamy wholeheartedly and she would like to think that he also felt the same way about her but she couldn't allow herself to confuse what was probably just his caring nature for something romantic. It wasn't worth the risk; their friendship was too important to her. Even the mere chance that he might not reciprocate was enough to stop her from ever revealing her decidedly not platonic feelings about him. It was worth it – dealing with the slight clench in her heart each time he walked into a room, the way she would always laugh a bit too loudly at his jokes just to see him smile, seeing her friend's knowing looks when they agreed on something – because she couldn't lose him. 

Once at the kitchens she found a pan and began boiling the plant as per Lincoln's instructions. Whilst decanting the completed tea into a mug she saw the dried blood lining the cracks in her hands and under her nails. It occurred to her that she hadn't washed her hands in hours. She mentally checked herself as she scrubbed at her hands under the tap until they were an angry pink. The blood was now gone but the mental image would stay with her for a long time.

\----------

Back in Bellamy's room, he was barely awake but Clarke forced him to drink the entirety of the mug of tea before settling in on the cold metal chair in the corner of the room. For the second time that day, she allowed herself to succumb to the tiredness and felt herself being pulled into a fitful slumber.  
When she woke up again it was to the sight of Raven leaning against the metal wall of the room. She was listening to Bellamy's nonsensical babble and was making the sort of humming noise you would use to placate an overexcited young child, partially supportive but mostly to mask amusement. 

"You're awake!" said Bellamy's unusually chirpy voice.

Groggily, she looked at Raven, silently asking what was happening. Raven, understanding immediately, explained how Lincoln had come in with Octavia to check on Bellamy earlier to find him high as a kite because of the painkiller tea. 

"Apparently he wouldn't shut up about the ‘prettiness' your hair so naturally, I had to come and see the action," Raven remarked. "They weren't wrong, he is loopy as hell – maybe we should let Monty experiment with that painkiller herb plant thingy," wiggling her eyebrows, "could be fun?"

"Absolutely not," Clarke replied dryly. She still had awful flashbacks to the jobi nut incident.

"You're no fun, Griffin."

There was a commotion on the other side of the room causing both girls to turn their heads. Bellamy had tried to sit up so quickly that he had somehow managed to push a pillow off the bed, knocking the mug from the table onto the floor. 

"She's fun!" he spluttered. "She always makes jokes and is really smiley." He says settling back now, satisfied that he had made his point.

"Only with you, buddy," Raven countered. "Anyway," she turned to Clarke who had been watching the interaction with a look of confusion, "I've got to get back to engineering - this camp can't survive without my dazzling brilliance for too long. God knows, Wick would probably end up blowing everyone up by accident with one of his ‘inventions'."

With that, she peeled herself off the wall and left with a mock-salute to Bellamy.

"I like Raven," voiced Bellamy

"Yeah me too," echoed Clarke, absentmindedly.

"I like you too. You're like…," he paused as if searching for the words, "my favorite."

"Oh." Clarke was paying attention now.

"When I'm with you my heart feels like it will explode because of how I feel about you. I don't ever tell because I'm scared normally but I think you're the best."

"Bellamy…" This was risky territory now. Even though he was drugged up, continuing this conversation could still ruin the careful truce they have.

"No, Clarke. I want to tell you – I never tell you – you mean so much to me… you're special. And smart. And pretty. You're kind of an actual princess, you know? You have blonde, pretty hair and you are basically the ruler of the camp. That's why I called you princess when we first met."

"Wha – I thought it was because of my parents and because of being from Alpha station."

"Nope," he said matter-of-factly. "You're a good person Clarke, I mean, you looked after me when I got stabbed yesterday. That was nice."

Abruptly, Clarke stood up, chair scraping backward. She wouldn't – couldn't listen to anymore. Bellamy didn't know what he was saying right now. It would be better for both of them if she left now so no one got hurt. She could feel herself getting more and more hopeful and, as she had learned, hope is a dangerous thing. 

"Clarke, wait," he called before she could get to the door. Slowly, she turned around, taking a deep breath.

"Yes?"

"Stay with me. Please," he added. "I don't like being alone." 

The sincerity with which he said that cut her to the core. Bellamy was, and always would be, her weakness. 

Shaking her head, she moved over to the bed. Bellamy shuffled over, leaving a laughable amount of room since the cots were made for one person. Sighing, she slid under the covers and turned her back to Bellamy. Bellamy curled into her, his head on her shoulder, nose against her cheek and his arm banded around her waist causing her to take a sharp intake of breath. After a moment she managed to regain control of her rapid heartbeat and allowed herself to relax into him, making sure she didn't touch the bandaged area. It was… nice, to be held. She hadn't felt this safe for a long time.

She knew they would have to talk about this in the morning but for the first time, she wasn't worried about the outcome. In Bellamy's arms, she was home.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is bellamyblakeshairgel.tumblr.com if you want to message me.  
> I haven't posted anything because tumblr confuses the f*** out of me and I mainly use it just to keep updated.
> 
> Bonus+ I might do an epilogue to this if people want... Let me know in the comments!


End file.
